


smoke gets in your eyes

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: Anal Sex, Getting high, I don't know what to tag other than, I wanted these obscure characters, M/M, Sex while being high, Smoking, Weed, from the 1940s, to share a joint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: Phillip has been rather tense during the days leading up to David Kentley's murder, and Brandon suggests something that may allow Phillip to loosen up.
Relationships: Phillip Morgan/Brandon Shaw
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	smoke gets in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> we stan 420 in this house, lads. the title of this fic is from "smoke gets in your eyes" by the platters. it's a good song.

Phillip Morgan rarely crumbles under pressure. 

He isn’t as nervous as most people care to believe, and he certainly isn’t as fragile. He won four state awards for an original composition in prep school, and he’s had no issues climbing the social ladder in the musician’s world. In fact, socializing came easier after school. 

The most he’s ever panicked about is the shed he and Brandon burned down before college. The fire hadn’t gone out until one am, and they’d waited in the bushes like sitting ducks just waiting for it to stop. It’s not like they wanted it to spread, and they thought their prep school would call the fire department. But no one came. 

Phillip’s panicking now.

His fingers tremble over the keyboard, and he can’t seem to get past a specific measure in the piece he’s been practicing. His mind keeps flashing forward two weeks, to when they’ll be face to face with David, when Brandon will be pouring him a drink, when Phillip will ask him to come check out the new chest they bought, and –

Brandon flinches when Phillip hit’s an off-key note. 

“What’s gotten into you lately?” He asks, folding his newspaper in half. 

“I’m not allowed to play the wrong note?” 

Phillip does so again, plays the measure and botches is purposefully, and Brandon lets out a weathered sigh. He stands and makes his way around the imposing piano, leaning over the edge of it until Phillip glances up at him. 

“Hey.”

“ _What_.” 

Brandon sits down beside him on the bench and crowds him into the corner of it, kissing him firmly on the mouth, one hand digging into the side of his neck. Almost passionate.

Phillip loosens up, as he always does. But it’s not enough. Not by a long shot. He’s not going to stop thinking about David, and the rope, and the chest. It’s two weeks away, which feels like a lifetime, but it’s also too soon. There is an inescapable feeling in his chest that has tightened to the point of pain. 

“Still worried?” Brandon questions, the hand that had been on his neck, now rubbing circles into his shoulder. He is always able to read Phillip’s mind. 

Phillip nods, leaning instinctively into Brandon’s touch. 

“No second thoughts, right?”

Phillip jerks up to look at him, startled like a deer in headlights. “N-No. Of course not, b-but I–”

“You what?” Brandon demands softly. 

“I wish I could stop _thinking_ about it. It’s mere weeks now, but it’s constantly weighing on my mind. My nerves are just acting up,” Phillip puts out a shaking hand for Brandon to feel. Brandon trails ghost lines over his knuckles, rubbing at the emptiness around his ring finger. As if to soothe the dread. 

He looks up at Phillip moments later with a clever grin.

“I know just the thing.” 

Phillip watches as Brandon squeezes behind the bench and kneels down to scrutinize the books on the shelves. His fingers stop on the book _Women in Love_ , by D.H. Lawrence. Brandon looks to him, and tugs it out.

Oh. Phillip had forgotten about this. 

“Brandon, are you sure?” Phillip asks, despising how quiet his voice becomes. 

“Why not? We wanted to try it, right?”

Phillip sputters when Brandon brings the book over to the ottoman beside the couch. “Yes, but are you sure it’s a good time? What if we–” 

“Stop worrying, Phillip,” Brandon tells him, patting the space beside him on the couch. Despite himself, Phillip sidles up to Brandon, staring curiously down at the unopened book. Brandon had explained to him it was unlikely that the demographic of their guests would ever feel inclined to take a look at _Women in Love_ , or ask to borrow it. 

If they did, they’d find a rotten surprise inside. 

Brandon opens the book. Half of the pages remain in tact, the other have the middle cut into, creating a deep rectangular hole where a pile of white reefers lay jumbled together. 

Phillip’s breath catches in his throat. 

“You’ve been wound so tight, lately, Phillip,” Brandon explains. “If you don’t like it, we’ll never touch them again. I’ll throw it in the garbage. How’s that?” 

He knew they were here, but seeing them in person is different. He’d heard so many things on the radio about the devilish ‘hemp’ brought over by South Americans, a dangerous drug as they’d called it. Brandon has smoked them once before, in prep school, apparently. Phillip would never consider it if not for Brandon’s recommendation and experience.

“I made sure they were real deal. They’re not laced with anything. It’s just marijuana. Just like smoking a cigarette, but better,” Brandon says with a grin. “Don’t make that face, Phillip. I just want you to loosen up.” 

Phillip must seem hesitant still, because Brandon continues rambling. “Phillip, it’s used medically to calm people’s nerves and sore muscles. There shouldn’t be any drastic side effects. When I did it, I was fine.”

“Alright,” Phillip whispers. “Yes, alright. I said I’d try it. I’m a man of my word.” 

Brandon grins wider, running a hand over his arm.

It’s only ten minutes later they’re back on the couch with a lighter, one reefer between them, and only apprehension to accompany them. 

“I haven’t done this since freshman year. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like,” Brandon says. “I just remember eating a _lot_.” 

“It’s a good thing I went shopping yesterday then,” Phillip remarks with a smile. 

Brandon lights it and takes the first hit. He coughs. 

“It’s not the smoke, it’s the smell. I forgot how strong it is,” Brandon laughs and hands it to Phillip who takes a hit and scrunches up his nose.

“Ew.” 

“You hate cigarettes. Is this better or worse?”

“Better, I guess.” 

They take a few more long drags before pausing. 

Phillip turns to Brandon, suddenly scandalized. “I’m not going to see hallucinations am I? I don’t want that.”

“No, Phillip. It’s just a relaxation thing. You also might be more...elated than you normally are. Nothing drastic, I promise.”

Brandon scrunches up _his_ nose this time. “Can you open the window, Phillip?” 

Phillip leans over the couch, and cranks it open. The people on the street below catch his eye and he finds himself staring at them, leaning over the edge, in a daze for far too long before he’s being tugged back by Brandon’s fist curled up in his shirt. 

“You’re going to fall out, you big dope.” 

“It’s almost gone,” Phillip observes, taking the reefer in between two fingers and taking another hit. His head feels warm and bubbly, like his brain has just been replaced with a freshly poured glass of champagne. 

“And then we’ll be sufficiently high,” Brandon says, taking one last drag before giving it back to Phillip who kills it. 

“What now?” Phillip questions. He’s not sure if he’s sitting or standing. The couch feels soft and hard at the same time. He takes Brandon’s hand to feel somewhat grounded.

For a moment, he ponders the fact that skin has a strange texture.

Brandon’s staring into the middle distance and Phillip snaps his fingers in front of his eyes. Brandon startles and then complains; “I’m hungry.”

Phillip smirks, and drags him through their apartment to the kitchen. Phillip hops up on the kitchen counter while Brandon digs through their icebox and cabinets.

“Phillip, what do I want?”

“Why are you asking me?” 

With wagging brows, Brandon inserts himself between Phillip’s thighs. He rides up to the side of the counter and kisses his chin and nose. “Because, Phillip, my love, you are a genius of omniscient knowledge.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Shaw,” Phillip mutters, despite the searing heat he feels wherever Brandon places his lips on his skin. He’s too buzzed to think clearly about how different kissing and touching feels while he’s high. He just knows it does. 

Brandon suddenly pulls back as briskly as a prairie dog. 

He grabs the jar of MnMs from the closet. The jar is the size of a small woman’s forearm. Still, it is quite a lot of MnMs, and Brandon is looking guilty, as if he means to eat them all. He snaps the jar open and pops a handful in his mouth.

“Why did you buy those anyway?”

“Are we too old for candy?” Brandon grumbles, making small appreciative noises around the chocolate in his mouth. “Phillip, you have to try this.”

“It’s chocolate, Brandon.”

“Food tastes better when you – Just eat it.” Brandon squeezes a few in between Phillip’s stubborn lips, and the second Phillip chews and tastes the chocolate on his tongue, he’s spiraling. It’s as if he’s never tasted chocolate before. He takes some more, and all of a sudden half the jar is gone and Brandon and Phillip are staring blankly at each other.

“I’m still hungry,” Brandon declares.

“Me too. Do we have anything salty?” 

“You’re the one who went grocery shopping. Don’t you know?”

Phillip giggles. “I can only remember the cashier with the funny nose.” Brandon hadn’t been there with him, but he giggles too. They giggle for some time before it dies out, and they forget what they’re giggling about. 

Brandon opens the fridge and rummages around. There’s nothing much in there other than greens, and steaks for dinner. There is alcohol too, but Phillip wouldn’t want to know what happens when you mix drinks with marijuana.

“Damn my proclivity for salad.”

“Corn dog,” Phillip says out of nowhere. Brandon looks at him curiously, before Phillip realizes Brandon can’t read his mind and he needs to elaborate. “There’s a fair down in Central Park. Can we go get a corn dog? Please.” 

Brandon nods in agreement, clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t see why that would be a bad idea.” 

Phillip makes a yipping sound, hopping down from the counter, and running off to their bedroom to get dressed. Brandon follows suit after stealing a few more MnMs. 

* * *

At the fair, people might think they’re just ditsy drunkards with the way they laugh at almost anything that passes them by. Phillip has to agree that the thought of David and the rope, and Nietzsche has been practically banished from his mind. 

The only thing on his mind is getting deep fried meat on a stick. 

“Two corn dogs please,” Brandon says when they find the corn dog vender. The cart has bright red stripes lining a white awning. It’s so colorful, Phillip is reminded of the time he and Brandon went to go see Wizard of Oz in junior year of prep school. Brandon had thrown popcorn at the old man in the front row. 

Phillip leans in to whisper to him, muffling his laughter in Brandon’s coat. 

“Four,” Brandon corrects attempting not to crack a smile. 

The unamused vendor gets to work making their order. And Phillip’s eyes dart around the fair, gaze catching on the cotton candy stand, and the small ferris wheel. He sees a group of adults in line for it and he tugs Brandon’s sleeve.

He’s not in the right state of mind to understand that it is most likely heterosexual couples, and very tall teenagers just wanting to fool around. 

“Let’s go on the ferris wheel, Brandon, _pleaseeee_.” 

The vendor makes a disgusted face, but they pay no mind to him as they’re handed their four corn dogs. Brandon drops some coins on the counter and tells the man to keep the change. Phillip covers one of his corn dogs in mustard, and the other in ketchup. Brandon eats both of his plain. It tastes delicious, otherworldly. Phillip could say this is the best piece of food he’s ever had. He’s not sure if two is enough. 

“It’s like romance on a stick,” he croons. 

Brandon smirks down at him, leading them through the crowds.

Brandon and Phillip do ride the ferris wheel, and get scolded by the operator for “acting like pansies.” It’s very rude. Brandon sticks his tongue out at the man and nearly gets a punch to the face. They decide to go home after that. If they weren’t under the influence, Phillip might have panicked at the name-calling, and the taunting. But today, he couldn’t care less. 

It’s been at least an hour and a half and the second they’re home Brandon is crowding him against the wall. Phillip is pliant, encouraging. He’s not sure he isn’t on a Brandon-shaped cloud when Brandon lifts him up and carries him to their bedroom. 

He makes short work of most of their clothes, kissing Phillip into the mattress. His mouth still tastes like chocolate. 

“Let’s have sex,” he suggests in the crook of Phillip’s neck. And it’s not like he could say no at this point, with the way Brandon is rubbing him through his pants, kissing and nipping at his skin like a sloppy vampire. It’s not like he _wants_ to say no.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he says in a mantra, tugging at the offending garments still on Brandon’s person. He doesn’t remember when he got so hard, but he’s straining in his pants, almost high enough to imagine he’s not even wearing them. 

Phillip comes for the first time while Brandon is prepping him. Only two fingers and a kiss at his thigh sends him twitching over the edge, untouched. He’s certain his orgasm lasts five minutes, he can’t tell. His whole body is buzzing and his blood is on fire.

Brandon removes his hand as if to stop, but Phillip is remarkably still hard, still wound up and ready to go. “If you stop, you’ll be the one I kill.” 

With a surprised grin, and a crook of the wrist, Brandon prepares him the rest of the way and pushes inside of him with a breathy moan that wouldn’t come from him any other day. If the food tasted good, this is nirvana. Phillip bounces in his lap, still feeling the remnants of his last orgasm. It mixes in with the new one building in his gut, with the way Brandon is pounding up into him, mumbling romantic words into his neck.

Even high, he’s a romantic during love-making. 

“Brandon, _fuck_ ,” Phillip moans, nearly shouts, clawing at Brandon’s back. He can feel Brandon’s shoulder blades ripple under his skin as he curls tighter around Phillip, thrusting at a new angle that sends sparks up and down Phillip’s spine. 

There is no regard for neighbors, or anyone that could overhear. 

They just don’t think about it. Brandon certainly isn’t thinking about it when he pants and lets out high-pitched grunts and moans into Phillip’s neck, snaking a hand in between them to get Phillip off a second time. 

Phillip throws his head back when he wraps a hand around him, stuttering out a gasp. Brandon comes first, tensing and making a loud shocked noise as his orgasm is ripped from him. The intensity is almost brutal, and Phillip follows him seconds later, spilling whatever he has left inside him over Brandon’s right hand, falling backwards off of Brandon’s lap with a broken moan. Brandon topples over too, still inside of him. 

He laughs as they collapse, and Phillip laughs too. 

“If we use them for nothing but sex, that’s fine by me,” Phillip says, feeling exceptionally elated and pleasant. Brandon nods, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. His kisses Phillip’s stomach, out of breath and most likely feeling pleasant as well. 

They take a thirty minute shower, during which their high begins to wear off. 

Phillip’s muscles still feel relaxed, and his train of thought is still in a warm place, but remnants of his worries and anxieties are beginning to return. And, Brandon is beginning to become rigid again in his personality, and his posture. 

It’s alright. Phillip would prefer it not to last long. 

He wants to be sober when they kill David Kentley. 

It isn’t like alcohol. It’s almost better than alcohol. Alcohol, Phillip can’t escape from. It’s there when he needs it, it’s there when he doesn’t want it, and when he drinks the amount it takes to get his mind off the horrors in his life, he feels sick. 

This is optional, and it’s there whenever they want, without overwhelming them with temptation. It’s hiding place is genius. 

Brandon is putting _Women in Love_ back in its place. In the discreet spot three rows up from the bottom, slightly to the left of the middle. 

Phillip is on the couch, listening to the radio. Radio hosts are speaking about a new film that’s been released. He changes stations, and the weather is spoken about. Sunny, mostly cloudy. Boring. Same old, same old. Phillip smiles; It’s perfect. 

Brandon sits down next to him. He’d been too lazy to button up his shirt after putting it back on, and it hangs loosely on his shoulders exposing the compact expanse of his chest. Phillip thinks if he started on another reefer, he could get off again. 

No. Another day. 

“Thank you for today. I know we acted pretty foolish. It must have been hard for you,” Phillip says. He nudges Brandon’s leg with a socked foot. 

Brandon shrugs. “I want what’s best for you, Phillip. I don’t care about acting foolish.” 

“Yes you do,” Phillip says, but doesn’t press the matter. There is an irritated glint in Brandon’s eyes that he ignores, and he shimmies closer. “The apartment won’t stink of marijuana tomorrow, will it? What will Mrs. Wilson say?”

Brandon chuckles at that. “Perhaps she should loosen up too.” 

“Don’t make me picture that,” Phillip teases. 

Brandon is looking down at the street outside with a glossy, reminiscent stare. Almost mourning something that isn’t quite lost yet. Phillip places his hand over Brandon’s. Brandon looks to him with a weak impression of melancholy. 

“We’re going to do it, and we’re going to do it well,” Phillip promises. 

Brandon swallows, relief finding its way into his face. Phillip won’t back out now, as much as he wants to. As much as the logical part of him has been screaming at him to. This is more important, this life between he and Brandon. It always will be. 

**Author's Note:**

> i had absolutely no reason for this other than i wanted to write it. phillip and brandon do weed, guys. it's factz. sorry. dedicated to gus, as always, my best friend and my moon.


End file.
